The Colour Red
by swabloo
Summary: Underneath a bedraggled and cheery exterior, the Weasley clan is ruthless and dangerous, a true example of Sunagakure Shinobi at their best, and sometimes insane. What is the real truth? How deep does the deception run? Naruto/ Harry Potter crossover!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **So I had this idea a long time ago, but never got around to dabbling with it. My attention was sparked once more, and I wrote this introduction… And find this whole concept far too amusing to not put up and continue. Chapters will vary in length, so not entirely like my normal multi-chaptered fics – and so it will be a multi-chaptered kind of drabble, where I can write whenever the inspiration inspires me for this universe. It's different from what you'd normally find, like all my fics- but I hope some people find this interesting!

**The Colour Red**

**Part One**

There was something about the colour red that was dark and dangerous and just the wrong shade of blood. In the arid sands, the colour red meant death – walls of sunburnt sand and rock and spinning in the air as the storms whipped you up and splayed you across the dunes; it was harsh and exciting and feral, with vicious edges and blunt trauma. It blotted out the sun and cast long, ensnaring shadows throughout the desert.

Red was the harbinger of a strange sort of insanity; the type that curled at the edges of your vision, ever-present and always lingering, beneath the surface. It always was and always would be – and in Sunagakure, this truth was known and deeply respected. Others around the shinobi nations knew of the famous few with fiery complexions – like Sasori, mad as long as people had known him, snapping in the strangest ways in search for technical perfection (but with a deeper, more dangerous insanity that rooted itself deep in his very soul); people knew of Gaara, a monster and madman and quite happily serial killer. Even though he stopped the immediate reaction of indiscriminate murder, a feral kind of psychotic snare still held deep within his eyes. He led, because he was good at it; because he was brutal and efficient and with politics and war, just the right level of crazy. People followed him because they remembered the madness, and would rather work for than against him – because he was a redhead, and the most successful Suna shinobi was always a redhead. The ones that stayed loyal, even by the barest thread, were fiercely loyal and always fierce; so good and wicked at what they did that other than the few loose cannons, no-one outside of Suna knew this secret; their hidden kind of bloodline that was rare but oh, so powerful. As red as the blood that connected them, red hair was it's dominant, omnipresent feature; yet, this strange sort of instinctual insanity would not always pass on; Gaara himself was the only redhead out of three siblings. Sometimes it could skip generations.

There was never more than one redhead in several generations. There was never more than one redhead per family (not the true, insane yet brilliant redhead). Before him, it had never been mixed with any other bloodline; never extended, distorted, and _evolved_. Before _he_ came, redhead by his own right but not quite the same, and married a _true _redhead. Before _he_ came, and mixed the talent with something _more_. Before Arthur Weasley met Molly and brought a different kind of magic to Suna.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **It may or may not follow a linear pattern; I'm thinking that each part will be individual oneshots that connect within the same timeline… So I'll write whenever inspiration hits.

**The Colour Red**

**Part Two**

Molly Prewitt didn't exist.

Or rather, she had, once, a long time ago. A little girl with shining, brilliantly orange hair and wide, curious eyes. But then the lights went out, and her wide, curious eyes weren't so wide anymore.

* * *

That morning, she'd woken up with a smile that split each cheek in two – the day had finally arrived! She was going to Hogwarts! She double- and triple- checked her trunk and her cat and her long, black robes. Her wand was polished under the steady thrum of her nervous fingers, tapping out an apprehensive rhythm that built in speed and excitement.

Worn pages of spellbooks were flipped and thumbed through over and over as spells were mumbled under breath, threading harmoniously with the random interjections of 'Hogwarts, I can't believe it…' and 'Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…'

She kissed each brother on each cheek goodbye at the station, already leaving her mother's embrace for that of the crimson train that stood proud and strong and 'chugachug, chugachug,' full of promise and magic and adventures ahead.

Her fingers danced against the corridor as she paced her way forwards and forwards until she found just the right compartment – empty and small and cosy enough for a read or two.

She stepped in, sat down, and opened her book, her wide, curious eyes searching for promises.

But then the lights went out, and then a dull sort of aching throb pierced through her spine and suddenly her eyes weren't so wide anymore, drooping with the rest of her features as she dropped to the floor.

Words were mumbled under breath and a spark lit up the dark for a moment, and Molly was gone. But then the lights came back on, and a little girl with shining, brilliantly red hair and narrowed, sly eyes sat in the otherwise empty compartment. Her eyes widened in curiosity as she spotted the book that had dropped, strewn across the floor; it was picked up and settled into her lap, where she quickly wiped the smear of blood that had spilt across the cover.

This little girl was Molly Prewitt, but she hadn't been Molly five minutes ago, even though her freckles were the same and her smile was the same and her eyes just a little bit crueller.

Molly Prewitt didn't exist, because someone had stolen her face.

**A/N: **That's right – the real Molly was assassinated on her way to her first year, and a shinobi took her place! (See what I did there? Instantly included the character of Molly into the shinobi world! But why would Suna send a spy to Hogwarts?)

No worries – the 'Molly Weasley' you guys know isn't dead. She's just a little... ninja-ish, now.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So here's a little history lesson that they never taught you…

**The Colour Red**

**Part Three**

Long ago, a priest discovered the truth about the energy that filled every living creature, and tried to use this knowledge to end war and bring peace. This man created the path for modern shinobi; showed the true potential of the energy from both one's mind and body.

This man had two sons; one who believed that power held the key to the peace that their father so desired, and that one needed cunning to cultivate it and ambition to strive forwards towards the true goal. The other son believed it was love that held the answer; that the honesty and courage within every person could fill even the weakest of people with the bravery needed to accomplish their goal.

The priest also had two daughters; one who believed that love was not a necessity to bound one's goals to another, that it was loyalty in all its forms that would bring people together and able them to stand against any foe, and that through unity and hard work peace could be achieved. The other daughter believed that peace would only come to those who were able to see it for what it truly was, and that only in the pursuit of knowledge would those affected by war become truly wise and be able to see past their differences.

These differences in opinion may have deconstructed the relationships of any other, but these four were family; and they knew that they were all right, in their own way. Guided by their father's teachings on the reality of the energy that they, and others, possessed, they joined together to create a school for those too far away from their homeland to be affected by their father's influence. They knew that the people on the other side of the world had no such guidance; their power was running just as wild and rampant, and it needed cultivating here just as it did in Asia.

The four siblings were successful, for a time; their stronghold was full of energy and the young, eager minds willing to learn it – _'magic'_, they decided to call it, as the people here spoke so differently than what they were used to. The way they used energy was different, too; here, there were far more people that were so easily open to the energy inside them that it often came without it meaning too. Accidentally, these people called on their power, and through their accidents they tried to cultivated it into something more powerful and refined. Their methods were crude; with the sibling's guidance, they adapted to each other's learnings and learnt how to channel the destructive force.

At first, the siblings had been overwhelmed; at home, whilst everyone had the potential to access energy – _chakra _– only a few chose the rigorous, gruelling training and discipline necessary to use it. Here, so many people had such easy access to it that the siblings could only focus on those that were already showing signs of it. They never had the time to try and teach others how to access their magic, even though it was a potential that every single person held.

The siblings adapted methods to finding those with the ability to readily access their magic, and brought them to their school and taught them things that they'd learnt in their travels around these lands and adapted to their own father's teachings.

For many, many years they refined the society they found themselves in. But then their father had died and made his second son heir, and the tension between the two became so bad that it exploded between them catastrophically. The eldest son attacked his brother and they fought; the eldest son left, overcome by bitterness and envy.

No longer whole, the family that ruled the school found themselves drifting further and further apart. At times, it seemed that the siblings forgot each other's true names – as if the western ones that they'd adopted for themselves were theirs truly, and that they really weren't related like all their students believed. The brother left behind eventually left the western lands and went back home, in search for his brother. He never wrote back, but it was last heard by the sisters that he'd found a wife out in the forests of Asia where the trees grew taller than even those in the forest by their school that they'd imbued with magic.

The daughter of loyalty and hard work stood alone in the great hall of their castle, looking up at the crests that belonged to each sibling. Serpent for her eldest brother. Lion for the other. Messenger, agile and swift and able to carry information for her sister.

For Helga, her chosen animal reminded her of home. They didn't have it here in England, although badgers looked a lot like it. No, her animal was more ferocious than that. Her tanuki; wild and sturdy and as slippery as the sands its demons came from.

Helga looked up at her black and yellow banner – as sharp as a wasp's sting, the double edge of poison – and twirled a bright red lock of hair between her fingers. The golden light from the floating candles seemed to set it alight, and she watched each strand glint in the firelight. It didn't surprise her that she was the only one of her siblings with crimson hair; after all, every one of them had a different mother.

Her gaze went back up to the tanuki on the wall and a pang of homesickness tore through her; she missed the scorching heat and the arid sands that she'd been birthed into; the way the landscape flowed in haphazard direction, swirling and gusting back and forth and as deadly as it was beautiful.

With both brothers gone and a sister that might as well have, she had nothing left to keep her here. As much as she loved her students, she missed home even more. She missed being a shinobi.

Decision made, she left the hall to tell her sister; she was going back to Suna.

**A/N: **BOOM! That's right, I mixed the Sage of the Six Paths with the Founders of Hogwarts. Believe It!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Well, this story really needed a little bit of fluff.

**The Colour Red**

**Part Four**

Her name was Molly now, and she liked it. She knew who she was and what she was doing. She was eleven, a witch and a Hogwarts student. She was a Shinobi spy.

Of course, the Shinobi already knew about Wizards; how could they not? Shinobi from every village had been keeping an eye on every country outside of the elemental ones, and it's not like the Wizards were subtle when they walked through a non-magical area wearing clothes that belonged to either a different era or gender.

But Molly was a deep cover spy in Wizard territory, and as far as she knew she was the only one of those. The Japanese chakra coil system just wasn't made to access spiritual energy the same way as wizards; the Shinobi could infiltrate all they liked, but the most they could do was watch from afar lest they risk Shinobi being discovered by anyone outside of Asia.

Molly was special, though. She was a true redhead, and those were all descendants from the Suna daughter of the Sage of Six Paths. Molly had two younger cousins who were redheads; Sasori, a genius puppeteer; the other, slated to become the next Kazekage. Neither her nor Sasori liked him.

But Sasori, she'd always got on well with him. Even though she was all of nine years old, he still looked out for her and her for him, and he'd show her interesting things that could be done with chakra. Briefly, her eyes closed at the thought of him and the thought of home; she missed them both, even more so as she didn't fit in with this strange, foreign land that her ancestor had built.

Of course, her discomfort never showed; she always hid under a genjutsu anchored to her skin, with seals that made her into the real _Molly_ that was two years older than her. Sometimes, she thought about running away – why couldn't some _other _redhead girl have inherited the capacity for 'magic'? – but then she'd remember the heat of Suna and the redness of the sands and the energy inside her would tingle with a warmth and she'd smile, because she'd always do anything for Suna and it would always be home, and she couldn't imagine ever truly belonging anywhere else.

She twirled her wand around her fingers as she stood in a stone hall of the castle, having stopped to admire the painting of a desert that had caused her contemplating in the first place. Just as she tucked her wand away into her pocket, a large heavy blur of robes hit her at full speed and she fell to the floor, with bright orange obscuring her vision.

"What – get off!" She heaved the stunned boy off of her as they both stood back up from their tangle of limbs. She looked at him, freckles disappearing into the bright blush that had grown from his ears and crept down to his neck.

"Oh, er, sorry! I, er, I wasn't looking where I was going – are you alright?" He spluttered nervously, and without her knowing it, her smile had grown at the sight of his flustered face.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, kneeling to help him pick up the books and quills and things that had spilled out of his bag and scattered on their impact.

Something hard beneath her fingers made her pause as she swept up a bunch of papers. Her hand grasped the object and pulled it out. She stared.

"What are you doing with this?" What was a _wizard _boy doing, carrying around muggle things?

She hadn't thought it possible, but somehow his blush deepened even more as he saw what she had found.

"Uh, yeah, it's uh – it's a muggle thing for eh – ekelticity –"

"Electricity," she corrected, and wondered why she was suddenly feeling a bit dazed when he grinned at her.

"Yeah. I'm Arthur," he said, holding out his hand.

"Molly," she replied, taking it with a small smile.

She got him a Japanese plug for Christmas.


End file.
